


Skater Boy

by SD-nonassociated (societallyDysfunctional)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, Punk England, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 12:44:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3570164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/societallyDysfunctional/pseuds/SD-nonassociated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He was a skater boy, he said 'see ya later, boy,' he wasn't good enough for him. Now he's a superstar, slammin' on his guitar. Does your pretty face see what he's worth?" (songfic for Avril Lavigne's "Sk8er Boi") (USUK, unrequited/fruitless FrUK)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skater Boy

“Watch where you’re going, wanker,” Francis heard a British voice say.  Francis had just been walking down the hall and chatting with his friends Gilbert and Antonio when this rude boy had bumped into him.  He looked around to find the source of the voice, and, not seeing anyone on eye level, looked down.  The boy was kneeling on the ground gathering his scattered class materials.  Francis bent down to help him.

“I could say the same to you,” Francis told him.  The boy looked up through his messy mop of ash blond hair to glare at him with startling emerald green eyes.  Francis’ breath caught in his throat.  “I don’t think I’ve seen you at school before.  What’s your name?”

“It’s Arthur.  Arthur Kirkland.  And, yes, I’m new,” Arthur answered, standing up.  He wore dark blue skinny jeans and sneakers.  His black t-shirt read ‘My Chemical Romance’ in a scrawling font, and a few black wristbands with studs braceleted his wrists.

“Francis Bonnefoy.  We’ve got to get to homeroom now, but I guess I’ll see you around school?”

“See you around, then,” Arthur said, then turned and walked away.  Francis spent a moment staring after him, then jogged to catch up with his friends.

—

On a Friday a few weeks later, Francis and Antonio were hanging out at Gilbert’s house talking about random things.  Then Gilbert just had to ask a personal question.

“Hey Francis, you got your eye on anyone?”  Francis shifted uncomfortably.

“Well there’s this one boy…  His name’s Arthur.  He’s new this year, so you might not know him.  He has blond hair, green eyes—”

“Oh we know who he is.  Arthur Kirkland, that lonely punk kid who hasn’t got any friends,” Gilbert scoffed.  “Have you seen what he wears?  Honestly, it’s no wonder no one likes him.  He’s such a weirdo.”

“He’s not that bad!  I think he’s nice…” Francis protested.

“Really, Francis?  You’re way too good for him.  You can do so much better,” Antonio added.

“Oh,” Francis mumbled, crestfallen.

—

A month later, after many friendly exchanges between class periods, Arthur caught Francis’ arm and pulled him aside after school.

“Hey, Francis,” Arthur began, looking at him hopefully.  “I was wondering if you’d like to go out sometime after school, just the two of us.”  Francis’ heart raced; he wanted this so badly.  He opened his mouth to accept, then remembered his friends’ words and stopped.  He tried to look disgusted and yanked his arm away.

“What made you think I would go out with _you_?” Francis sneered venomously, ignoring a voice in the back of his mind that warned against rejecting him.  Arthur looked like he had just been slapped.

“Well, I thought that, maybe…” Arthur started.  Then his eyes hardened.  “You know what, never mind.  Forget about it.  I never liked you that much anyway.”  He glared and stormed away.

Francis would never forget the hurt expression on Arthur’s face.

—

Five years later, Francis was babysitting for a neighbor.  The child had gone to sleep, so he turned on the television and began flipping through the channels.  As he passed one, he could have sworn he saw a familiar face.  He turned back and gasped.

There was Arthur, in black skinny jeans, an olive green shirt, and an open black jacket, with a Union Jack bandana tied around his neck.  He was playing an electric guitar on a stage surrounded by screaming fans.

“It can’t be him, just a lookalike,” he whispered to himself, in disbelief.  Then the name ‘Arthur Kirkland’ appeared at the bottom of the screen before the channel switched to a commercial break.  He scrambled to get his cell phone out of his pocket and texted Gilbert and Antonio.

FB: are you seeing this?!

GB: no.  what r u talking about?  
GB: haha just kidding.  ur talking about the punk kid on MTV, rite?

FB: how did you know?

AFC: i got tickets!

FB: you did?  
FB: can i come?

AFC: yep!  
AFC: i got 3

FB: can you pick me up in 15 mins?

GB: yea! see ya then

AFC: bye!

—

Francis had waited for the neighbor to come back (he had already been on the way), then gone to his apartment next door, where he waited for Gilbert and Antonio to pick him up.  When they finally arrived, he all but sprinted to the car and into the backseat.

“Excited much?” Gilbert teased.

“Shut up,” Francis grumbled.

After what seemed like an excruciatingly long drive (in reality it was about 20 minutes), they pulled up at the concert.  Antonio offered to park the car, so Gilbert and Francis got out and pushed their way through the crowd.  A few minutes later, Antonio wormed his way through the mass of people, calling their names.

“Francis!  Gilbert!” Antonio yelled over the din.  He found them and joined them, but someone else seemed to have heard his calls.

On stage, Arthur had frozen.  Luckily not in the middle of a song.  His green eyes flew wide and searched the crowd.  His gaze came to rest on Francis, who smiled and waved sheepishly.

The trio stayed for the remainder of the concert.  Francis and Antonio knew none of the songs.  Gilbert, however, seemed to know many of them quite well and enjoyed himself immensely.  After the ‘last song,’ the audience screamed for an encore.

The band played a song that, again, Francis didn’t recognize.  Arthur was still playing the electric guitar, but he joined the lead singer at the microphone from time to time.  By the last verse of the song, Francis was singing (or trying to) along with the rest of the crowd.

_“Time stood still, the way it did before.  It’s like I’m sleepwalking!”_

After the song finished, the band meandered off the stage.  Arthur went to talk to a tall blond boy who had appeared from the back of the stage, then seemed to glance in Francis’ direction.  Arthur gave the boy his guitar and came over to Francis.

“Hello, Francis,” Arthur greeted him.  “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Yes.  But look at you!  When did all this happen?” Francis asked.

“It’s been a whirlwind.  I was just playing my guitar in the garage and I guess someone in the business heard me and liked it.  Before I knew it, I was playing in concerts.  I won’t give you all the details,” Arthur answered, crossing his arms as if he was uncomfortable.  “Anything new happen with you?”

“No, not really.  But this is really something.  How do you like living like this?”

“It’s great, really.  I actually have a—” he was cut off by the blond boy Francis had seen Arthur talking to earlier.  The boy, probably about a year younger than Arthur, hugged him from behind, then, when Arthur turned around, kissed him full on the lips.  Arthur pulled away, blushing and smiling, then turned to Francis again.  “Sorry about him.”  Arthur elbowed the him playfully.  “Alfred, this is Francis.  I knew him in high school.  Francis, this is Alfred, my boyfriend.”

Alfred smiled at him.  “Nice to meet you.  Arthur’s told me a bit about you,” Alfred told him.

“Oh?  I hope at least some of it was good,” Francis said.  Alfred shrugged.

“Well we’d better be going then.  Maybe I’ll see you again?” Arthur said.

“Maybe.  Bye, then!”

“Goodbye!”  Arthur waved.  Then Alfred slung an arm over his shoulder.

“C’mon, Artie, we’re gonna be late!”  Arthur half-heartedly tried to push him off, then smiled to himself.

“Oh alright, Alfred.  And how many times have I told you not to call me that?  And don’t do that in public!” Arthur protested.  Alfred laughed.

“Artie, you know you love it.”  Alfred leaned down and kissed Arthur’s cheek in defiance.

“Oh be quiet,” Arthur told him, but didn’t pull away.  They walked off, still bickering playfully.

Anyone with eyes could tell that they were plainly in love.  Francis would never do anything to disrupt that.  So, Francis just sighed and turned back to rejoin his friends, trying his best to forget Arthur Kirkland.

**Author's Note:**

> crappy ending is crappy.
> 
> So yeah this was a songfic-ish thing to Avril Lavigne’s song “Sk8er Boi.” I hope you guys liked it! (sorry FrUK shippers). Please comment if you did.
> 
> Thanks again for reading my stuff,  
> ~Rebecca


End file.
